


Boundaries

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Bond is a member of a high end fetish club and helps stop a scene that is coerced.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this is a work founded on BDSM. If you don't like that, read something else. I have no intention of discussing or defending my fondness for consensual kink. I am not a Dominant so I deliberately challenged myself to write from a Dom's point of view. I'm not sure how well I've succeeded. The elderly couple described are based on friends from the local fetish community. Yes, kink is for all ages. The other OC's are composites of people I have met. This work is unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.

The lighting in this portion of the club was subdued and indirect. Screens above the bar displayed videos but the sound was left off. The music played over the hidden speakers was an eclectic rhythmic mix that Bond had learned was referred to as Global, played at a volume that permitted conversation in the padded booths lining the two walls perpendicular to the bar. The wall opposite the bar was absent, the main floor space of the club opening out from it. The music there was a combination of the speakers and the voices and sounds of the scenes being enacted, whimpers, cries, shouts, and squeals and the thud of floggers, the snap of crops and the unmistakable crack of a single tail. All these sounds were erotically charged to someone with the right predilections. Bond was certainly in that category.

He hadn't been to Boundaries in several months but he was a long time member. He appreciated the privacy the owners insisted on and their consistent oversight that made the place one of the most elite fetish clubs in London. Membership was by invitation only and the club rules were ruthlessly enforced so that all the members could play in complete security. One could bring guests but they had to be vetted and sign NDA's. 

The bar was quiet, the people there old acquaintances. A couple in their early seventies had been members when the club opened, friends of the owner. Bond waved a pleasant greeting and the woman blew him a kiss, earning her a playful swat from her mock-glaring Dom. Bond smiled at the pair, married almost fifty years and apparently still newlyweds. 

Bond had initially been hoping to find a partner for the evening, a head clearing couple of hours where he exerted control over a scene and felt the rush of trust given and accepted, even if only temporarily. Male or female, a submissive was a joy. He had noted lately that his preference had been more for slender males. One he had spent two sessions with had been here this evening but had found a permanent partner. Bond mentally congratulated the other Dom as he had passed them when he entered the club. They were now deep in a scene, the submissive over his Dom's lap and raising his already reddened ass for more of the paddle. 

Bond sipped at the sparkling water and contemplated switching to something stronger as it didn't look like he'd be playing this evening. His eyes were drawn to a pair of figures toward the side of the play space. The small hairs at his nape rose and he sharpened his attention. An observer untrained in the rhythms and nuances of BDSM might have noticed nothing amiss. One figure was restrained on a bench, on his back, thighs splayed leaving his genitals vulnerable. The man over him was wielding a cane, the sharp swish and crack as it hit bare flesh counterpointed by cries from the bound figure. A few things flashed through Bond's analytical brain. First, he had been sitting here for a fair bit and hadn't seen any warm up. His general experience was that canes were best employed after a long crescendo of impact play and rarely on the front of the body. Second, the submissive was not in any way in that elusive space where the blows would be flooding his system with endorphins. His cries were garbled and sounded more like abject fear than a prelude to ecstasy. Third, the blows were encroaching much too close to the exposed genitals, which displayed no arousal at all. A few too many blows or a small degree closer and serious damage might be done. All this took much less time to process than describe. The entire picture was just wrong and Bond knew it. He caught Barry's eye behind the bar and tilted his head in the direction of the scene. With a muttered curse that said clearly that he had read things exactly as Bond had, Barry grabbed the American baseball bat he kept behind the bar and vaulted the polished wood. He wore the bright gold patch on his black polo that denoted a dungeon monitor but in a highly emotional setting the bat was a good addition to his presence. He'd never had to use it except to brandish it once or twice. Bond followed a bit behind Barry, saying nothing but watching everything. 

Barry approached the two figures as the cane descended on the inside of a pale thigh, the submissive letting out a long wail. Before the action could be repeated, Barry gripped the upraised arm and spoke. “Mr. Maxwell, I think that may be enough.” The figure spun, anger twisting his face. He had raised his other hand in a fist before he caught sight of the badge. The Dom's face went through a series of shifts, anger to cold indifference to a patently false cheer.

“So sorry,” he said. “I wasn't expecting to be interrupted.” He lowered both arms, the cane still held loosely. 

Barry stepped back half a pace and nodded at Bond, jerking his head at the bench. Bond approached, still keeping a modicum of his attention on the threat but focusing on the submissive who was shifting in restless, panicky jerks, skin cross hatched with brightly livid marks and incipient bruising. His cries were gasps, repeated moans, and slurred pleas to stop. Bond moved to the end of the bench where a head of tangled dark hair hung off the padded edge. Bond eased a hand under the sweat soaked strands and lifted. The eyes fluttered open. Bond bit back his shock. Even in the relatively dim light and even with pupils so dilated the irises were indistinguishable, he knew they were green. He knew it because he knew this face, perhaps the last person he expected to see here. “Q,” he mouthed soundlessly as he began releasing the restraints.

Maxwell protested. “This is my scene. He's a monitor but you've no right to interfere.” 

Bond gave him one cold look. “Drugging a person doesn't qualify as consent.” He turned back to the bench, continuing to release the chilled limbs that had been improperly and dangerously constricted, the ropes badly tied and abrading the skin to a bloody mess in two spots. 

Barry stepped between Mr. Maxwell and Bond, bringing the bat up to one shoulder. “You sure of that?” he asked. 

Bond gave up on the last knot, producing his pocket knife to dispense with it. “I'm quite sure. I'd suggest you check the CCTV on the bar and the entryway.” These were the only two cameras in the club.

Barry had his grip on Maxwell's elbow again and leaned a bit closer. “That's Mr. Lovelace. Explains a bit.” He urged Maxwell to head for the office behind the bar. “He's turned you down every night you asked, firmly. Can't see him agreeing willingly. Seems like I recall him telling you what to do with your offer.” Maxwell sullenly said nothing. “James, take him to one of the private rooms and I'll send Tessa with blankets and such. I'll deal with this one.” He determinedly hauled at Maxwell who seemed inclined to retrieve the large duffel next to the bench. “Never mind that, Maxwell. I'll have one of the staff bring it for you.” As Barry frog marched the man away, Bond was left with a now shivering and withdrawn Q. He had curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees and face hidden against his folded arms, hair flopping over to further conceal him. Soft sobs and whines shuddered through him and his skin, where it wasn't criss crossed with marks, was pale and chilled. Bond removed his suit jacket and laid it carefully over the narrow shoulders. The touch of skin warmed fabric reduced the shivering a little although the sniffling persisted. Bond leaned in closer and whispered, “Q, it's me. I'm going to get you somewhere safe.” After a moment, there was a faint head nod and a slight relaxation of the pose. Bond took quick advantage, insinuating one arm under the folded legs and the other around Q's shoulders. 

The private rooms were kept for long time members, generally reserved for special occasions. The first one with an open door was where Bond took Q, kicking the door shut behind them. He set his burden down on the bed, a thankfully innocuous one, the tie points well hidden. He left the lights low and sat on the edge of the mattress, running a gentle hand over Q's hair. A tap at the door announced Tessa who, at Bond's softly voiced acknowledgment, entered. The club noise briefly intruded and then cut off as the door closed again. Tessa was tall, with skin the color of rich dark chocolate and hair in long twists. She was usually smiling, an expression that made others smile as well. Her attire was always intriguing, presently a chain mail bikini and stiletto gold glitter heels that gave her even more height. She moved gracefully in them, crossing the room and depositing a large basket on the floor next to the bed. It was loaded with water bottles, chocolate and a first aid kit. She carried a large fleece blanket over one shoulder which she offered to Bond, gazing at Q's huddled figure with an expression of militant anger. 

“Like to get my hands on that prick Maxwell. Take a cane to his worthless wannabe hide. He's a thug not a real Dom. Everyone likes Mr. Lovelace. Tell him we hope he feels better.”

“I'll do that, Tessa,” Bond replied. He spread the warm weighted fleece over the figure on the bed as Tessa let herself out. Bond made sure he tucked the blanket in around the curled figure and then eased himself up against the headboard keeping one hand on a blanket cloaked shoulder. Q sniffled a bit and inched closer, finally settling with his head butting up against the lower edge of Bond's ribs.

They had been resting there for perhaps a half hour when a soft tap at the door preceded Barry's entrance. He held a pile of clothing which he placed on one of the cabinets that lined one wall. “How's he?” he asked, shrugging one shoulder in Q's direction. 

“Dozing I think,” Bond responded. “What about Maxwell?”

Barry settled on the edge of the armchair. “You were right. I pulled the footage from the bar camera. Mr. Lovelace turned away from his drink and that bastard Maxwell dropped something in it. I'd guess rohypnol or something like. Before you say anything, I wasn't on the bar at the time. The new fellow was covering. Anyway Maxwell is right out. His membership is revoked and he's been blacklisted at every other club in London after the calls we made. I didn't call the police. Do you want them?”

Bond shook his head, knowing Q wouldn't thank him for an official report. “I think handling it in house is best, Barry.”

Barry shrugged. “Stay the night if you need. If he's awake enough, I'll do breakfast for you in the morning.” He stood and left, heading back to his post.

Q stirred as the door closed and made a vaguely interrogative noise. Bond automatically soothed him, stroking a hand over the blanket then petting the mop of hair. The only response was a contented sigh. Barry's offer was welcome. Bond had taken responsibility and moving Q anywhere before the chemicals in his system wore off was too risky. Of course he wondered what Q was doing here. The obvious answer was the same thing Bond was doing, seeking companionship in a safe place. It also seemed that his tastes, while outside what society considered usual, were not extreme. Maxwell, for instance, was not agreeable to Q. Bond continued his slow petting, Q's breathing calm and even. The somnolent state was an expected effect of the drug and might last several hours. Bond considered attempting to treat the injuries he had seen but Q might not thank him for doing so when he had no say in the matter. Best to wait for him to wake up.

Bond might have dozed a bit himself as the sound proofing created a bubble of peace that lulled even his hyper acute senses. He woke to curious fingers tentatively exploring the fabric of his shirt. His own hand still rested on Q's blanket draped form. “Are you awake?” he asked in a voice just above a whisper.

There was an uncomfortable sounding sigh from under the soft fleece. “Sadly, I am. But I'm not sure about anything else.” Q's voice was thin and much too hesitant. 

“We're in Boundaries. Barry and I halted a scene you were in earlier. That bastard Maxwell drugged you. Barry saw it on the video after the fact. I guessed you might not want the police called. We can still do that now if you'd rather.”

Q digested that information for a bit then his head emerged from the blanket.”Thank you. No, I'd rather not have the police involved. Can't see that going over well at the office.” He peered around the dim room, squinting. 

“Presumably your glasses are with your clothes. Barry brought them in. Do you want them?” 

There was a slow blink and the pale forehead creased in concentration before Q shook his head and put it back down. “Not necessary right now. I'd like more details. I remember very little before waking up here.”

“Not all that much to tell. I was sitting in the bar and saw a scene that looked off to me. The Dom was using a cane and doing it with very bad technique. I gave Barry a look and he was off immediately. I didn't know it was you until Barry stopped the scene and had me look after you. I saw your face and was fairly surprised. I didn't realize you were a member. Barry took Maxwell off to look at the video footage from the bar when I told him you had been drugged. He told me to bring you to one of the private rooms.” Bond paused and then resumed.”Barry said you'd turned Maxwell down flat earlier.”

Q gave a sudden shiver. “He's a sadist. Not a problem if he wanted to find a masochist to play with. But that is something I am not. He kept pressing the issue. Thing is, a masochist wouldn't have made him happy. He wants to have the freedom to abuse someone, cause them pain that they won't enjoy on some level.”

“Well, he won't be back here. His membership's revoked.” Bond shifted a bit and reached over the edge of the mattress for the basket Tessa had left. He handed a bottle of water to Q and then brandished the first aid kit. “Drink up and let me see the damage.”

Q swallowed half the water quickly and then wriggled a bit, wincing. “He was using a cane? Fuck, I hate canes.”

“I'm not a huge fan myself,” Bond said with grimace. “I also want a look at your wrists. You had some rope abrasions.” 

Q peered at his wrists, making a face as he flexed his hands. “I suppose it's a bit late to be concerned about modesty?” he asked wryly as he shed the folds of blanket and settled on his back.

Bond, sitting on the edge of the mattress now, was focused on the contents of the first aid kit. “I suppose I could call Barry or Tessa to do this. But since I'm here and already saw it all, I think I may be your best bet.” He turned and began with the abrasions on the wrists, calmly cleaning and applying ointment from the kit and then a soft bandage. “If anyone notices at work, just tell them you scorched them pulling a dish out of the oven.” He turned his attention to the welts raised by the cane. A few of them showed blood as well as bruises. Q flinched a bit as Bond got closer to the one high up on his thigh. 

“I can do the rest myself,” he offered but without much hope that he would be heeded. Bond simply continued his methodical progress, his mouth set in a grim line as he worked, his touch gently clinical.

“You know it's probably a good thing Barry took care of Maxwell. If he had left it to me, they might have found him with that cane stuffed somewhere meaningful.” Bond's voice never lost it's even tenor and his hands continued their careful touches to Q's skin until he had done as much as the first aid kit would allow. “How are you feeling?”

“Clear headed, I think. I suppose I should count myself lucky you noticed what was happening. Even luckier you decided to do, this.” Q gestured broadly at the room.

“I rather thought you needed the aftercare and might prefer a familiar face when you came out of it.”

“You're not wrong,” Q responded. He stretched and then slid off the bed in the direction of his clothes. Bond admired the confidence it took for him to do so. The skin of his back was unmarked and drew Bond's eye, pale and covering an elegantly muscled form. He was moving well if a bit stiffly. Bond dug in the kit while Q was dressing, finding the desired item after a brief search. He handed over the small pot. Q eyed the label. “Arnica. Thank you.”

“Make sure you use it,” Bond replied, realizing how like a Dom that sounded only after the words had left his mouth. Damn. It would be a very bad idea to allow that sort of thinking with regard to his Quartermaster. Fortunately for him, Q didn't seem to take offense. He merely pocketed the small jar and dug his glasses out of a pocket, wiping them on a handkerchief and placing them carefully on his face. Bond risked asking “Are you hungry? Barry mentioned breakfast.”

Q cocked his head to the side a bit. “That would be nice, yes” he finally said. He made his way to the door and peered into the now empty play space. The equipment had all been cleaned and the big overhead lights were on as one of Barry's helpers was finishing with the floor.

Tessa was doing inventory at the bar. “Barry,” she called into the small apartment behind the bar.

Barry poked his head out from the back. “Have a seat,” he called. “Bacon's about done and the coffee's hot.” At his gesture Tessa grabbed the carafe off the coffee maker on the counter and poured two cups. Barry was out a few moments later with a large tray and full plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Breakfast was shared out and everyone ate for a bit before Barry took a drink of his coffee and leaned his elbows on the bar. “Mr. Lovelace,” he began, using Q's club pseudonym, “I owe you an apology. I wasn't at the bar when Maxwell drugged your drink but I should have given the man covering a heads up. You know Maxwell's no longer a member. The owners offered you your next six months dues to be paid by them.”

Q considered for a few moments. “You know I don't blame you, Barry.”

Barry nodded. “Indeed, I do know that. But when I am here, I am responsible for keeping an eye on everything. I can't take things back but I can tell you I am making damned sure everyone who does monitor duty and every bartender here gets a look at that video and understands the owners will back them up if they call out problems.” He drank the rest of his coffee. “Now either of you need a ride home?”

Bond shook his head. “My car's just down the street.” He glanced at Q. “If you'd like, I can give you a lift.” To his surprise, Q acquiesced. Perhaps he was still feeling a bit hungover? He remained quiet all the way to his doorstep, exiting the car with a quiet 'thanks' and disappearing inside his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Bond had time to think. Probably too much time if he were honest. He settled back on his sofa. This flat had, for a miracle, comfortable furniture. He had spent the day after dropping Q off running some errands and catching up with an old shipmate from his Navy days. Now he watched the colours of the sunset gradually fade and sipped from a glass of good scotch, the stuff he kept for thinking. Q at Boundaries. He still had a difficult time wrapping his head around the idea. He wasn't sure why he was having trouble with it. He had been in the lifestyle a long time. It's participants were as varied in their stories and needs as the rest of humanity. But Q as a submissive? He was such a fiercely unique personality in his work but perhaps that was the key right there. A huge number of submissives were people with highly responsible jobs who needed the freedom to hand over the reins to someone else. 

So, a submissive. But that left an awful lot of unanswered questions. Bond felt the itch to know more and recognized the symptoms. He was getting hooked. He already felt responsible after the time spent caring for the man last night. Now he was examining the facets of what he knew as a puzzle to solve. This was the direction his dominant streak always led him, to ferret out the small things that wound a submissive's energy into a taut spring that would spiral at a word or gesture into a haze of endorphin mediated boneless ecstasy. This was dangerous territory. Q wasn't a random club partner and Bond would be better off cutting this train of thought off right now. Still there were those moments, Q half dozing with his curious fingers roaming over Bond's shirt as they rested. And the moment Bond had recognized who Maxwell's victim was, the blood boiling rage he had felt, immediately pushed aside by his protective instincts as the pained and panicked eyes had sought his face. 

Fuck. He already had it bad. He finished his drink and decided against another. He retreated to his bed.

The next week was not actually as bad as Bond had anticipated. He encountered Q several times, in the executive offices, in the armory, and in the lift. Q was his usual calm self. On the Thursday, he invited himself to lunch in Q's office, paving the way with takeaway from the Chinese kitchen about two blocks away. He did have some legitimate concerns about his most recent mission. His transmitter had lost signal at, fortunately, non critical moments. Q went through the lines of data, muttering about satellite coverage.

As he was preparing to leave, Bond made sure the door was closed and asked, “How are you feeling?”

There was the faintest hint of colour on the sharp cheekbones. “I was wondering if you'd ask. I'm well. And thank you for being circumspect.” 

Not willing to push the issue, Bond nodded and left, the door closing softly behind him.

He was called away for a week long mission, a cooperative effort with the Americans. The overall result was supposedly a success but Bond wasn't entirely convinced. The Americans he had worked with were not his usual CIA contacts and he wasn't sure they hadn't been using him as a blind for some deeper game they were playing. He was glad it was over. He debriefed and returned to his empty flat, at odds with himself, restless. It was a Friday evening. Boundaries was the only place he felt motivated to go. 

The club was gearing up when he arrived, He nodded and took a seat in his favorite booth and scanned the space. The girl on bar duty delivered his sparkling water and, at the same time, Trent slipped into the seat opposite, a devilish grin splitting his seamed face. “It's my Eleanor's birthday,” the former professor began. “She deserves a proper spanking.”

Bond followed his gaze back to where Eleanor was chatting to two other submissives, silvery grey hair plaited down her back and wearing a lace thong and skimpy camisole. “I hope she has a lovely birthday,” Bond responded.

“Now there's the thing,” Trent replied. He scratched one ear and then spread his hands. “I can't manage it. My surgeon worked on my right shoulder a few weeks ago and I'm not supposed to over stress it. So I was wondering if you might possibly agree to...”

“Be your proxy?” Bond suggested. 

Trent smiled broadly. “Exactly. I was hoping to get her a good open-hand spanking, a bit of your fancy flogger work, and finish off with a bit of single tail.”

Bond considered. He's been asked multiple times to demonstrate his skill with the kangaroo leather bull whip. It was an implement he had worked hard to acquire accuracy with. “Ladies' choice, my friend. If she says that's what she wants, it's fine by me.”

Trent called across the room. “Wench, over here at once.”

Eleanor approached, blue eyes sparkling with life and amusement and a sway to her round hips. “Yes, Sir?” 

Which is how Bond found himself on the floor of the club, with Eleanor and her Dom in a roped off space to allow the full swing of his whip. Eleanor was already pink cheeked, above and below and was hugging the St. Andrews cross, perfectly still. He unrolled the plaited leather and cracked it once to her right side, watching as her skin shivered but she remained otherwise still. He flicked the tip out and up and caught her left buttock. She squealed but held her position. He caught a shoulder blade, knowing she was fairly well padded there. She moaned but just tucked her head farther forward. He had promised her five licks with the whip. She was having a grand time by her voice and Trent's smile as he watched her face from the sidelines. Two more snake fast strikes to the opposite shoulder and the butt again. Deciding she might appreciate the extra attention, he hit the left buttock once more and then called out, “One more for luck?”

“Green,” was the shrill response and he laid a second mark just above the one he had used to begin, coiled the whip and stepped forward. Eleanor had tears in her eyes and was wrapping herself around Trent like a vine while he cooed and soothed her and everyone watching sang Happy Birthday. Bond examined the bright pink welts where he had struck, brighter than the overall blush the floggers had left after his hand. None of them seemed a problem. He peered around at her face and she placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Thank you, luv.”

Bond watched as the two moved off to settle on a chaise in the corner, cuddled into each other and absorbed in the pleasure of each other's company, Eleanor reveling in the aftercare from the only Dom she needed. Barry and Bond together removed the velvet ropes they had set up to distance the spectators. Some people still didn't understand how much space the back swing of a long whip needed. He shook out the whip and allowed it to settle into it's natural coil and stowed it in it's drawstring bag. Picking up the floggers, he allowed the falls to hang straight, shaking them a bit to make sure nothing was twisted. He was aware of a figure at his elbow but assumed it was a member waiting to make use of the space. 

“That was fairly remarkable,” commented a very familiar voice. Q nodded at the floggers and held out a hand. Bond laid the handle of one of the matched set across the palm. Sharp green eyes examined the gray and black braided leather and the other hand came up to thread fingers through the spongy elk hide falls. “Our birthday girl seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.”

“Those have always been favorites of hers. Her Dom has a pair just like them. Unfortunately, he had recent surgery and isn't supposed to be using his arm that way.” 

“So I gathered,” Q said mildly as he handed back the second flogger. “I watched most of it. I came in as you were finishing the spanking. I just didn't want to ruin the flow.”

“Thank you. But I have good focus. I've worked scenes in crowds here before. Besides, I trust Barry to keep the spectators safe.”

They were moving to the bar area. “That would be necessary with the last part.” Q observed thoughtfully. “It's a bit intimidating.”

“The bull whip? Just another tool and another skill set. Takes practice. I almost cut my own ear off when I first started using it.” Bond chuckled a little ruefully at the memory.

“Steep learning curve?” Q asked as they seated themselves.

“Takes a lot of practice,” Bond admitted. “Not like floggers or a paddle. It's sufficient there to get the general area and select the right material for the effect. So long as the weight is right for your hand, the material does the rest. The single tails need accuracy.” Bond drew a cocktail napkin over and drew a rough human outline. “You must have seen this.” He drew an X shape over the figure with the points at shoulders and hips. “Arse is a good target. Shoulders are fair depending on the muscle underneath. The rest is off limits. Too much that can be damaged. And I never hit twice in the exact same place.” He sat back. “Of course, I can also do the movie hero thing, wrap it around an arm or leg. I don't often get a chance to use it. I haven't played with a partner frequently enough lately to get to the point where they trust me enough. Eleanor knows me very well. I actually did a demonstration class with her a year or so ago. If I remember correctly, she grabbed Trent by the belt and hauled him off to a private room afterward. He sent me a bottle of scotch later.”

“I've never scened with anyone using one,” Q admitted. “I admire the skill but I'm not sure if it's something I'd like.”

Bond shrugged. “Plenty of other things to enjoy. I tailor scenes to the person I'm with.”

“What about me?” Q asked. “What kind of scene might you design for me?”

Bond's brain ground to a halt and then gradually restarted. Q was actually asking him? He might just be curious but there was no real reason not to answer the hypothetical. The aspects of a scene were the only place where he expected and provided total honesty. He stared directly into the green eyes. “I suspect you already know the answer to that. I'd ask all kinds of intrusive questions first. Because I never do a scene without an understanding of limits being plainly discussed and that is doubly true for you since we have to work together. That is my limit.”

Q stared back for several silent moments. “All right,” was all he said. Bond's eyebrows rose and he had no idea how to answer. “ I said all right,” Q repeated. “What would you like to know?” He reached into a pocket and removed a folded paper printed front and back with black ink. “This may help. I've used this when negotiating before.”

Bond took the paper but didn't immediately look at it. “You planned this,” he said flatly.

Q gave a tiny complacent smile. “I wouldn't exactly say planned. I like being prepared for eventualities. I wasn't sure I'd have the nerve or the opportunity to open the conversation but I thought it best to have a clear idea what I wanted if that happened.”

Bond's mouth twitched. If they actually managed to make this work, Q was going to be a wonderful challenge. He'd have to work to stay ahead of that formidable brain. He unfolded the paper, smoothing it on the tabletop. It was the fairly standard list of activities with check offs for yes/no/haven't tried and spaces to add comments. There was nothing terribly surprising on the page. Q liked some impact play, rope and predicament bondage, and orgasm delay. He liked all forms of sensory play and, and was on board with making a scene sexual as well as sensual. Most of the items he listed as no were also not favorites of Bond's. That left plenty to work with. As Bond was reading through the list, Q was showing the first sign of nerves he had displayed. He was twisting his hands together and fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of the maroon button down he was wearing. Experimentally, Bond reached out a hand, laying it over Q's and stilling the movement. He did not look up, He smiled internally at the reaction. Q froze, took a deep breath, and relaxed on the exhale. Bond had made the most minimal display of dominance and Q reacted beautifully. This might still be a bad idea, but that had never stopped 007 when the prize was worth it. 

After a few more moments where Q simply sat watching him, eyes bright behind his glasses, Bond withdrew his hand and slid the paper back across the table. “Put down an email address or contact that's not related to the job. I'm going to think about this and likely send you some questions. I'll want honest answers. Assuming I'm in the country and there isn't any emergency, we'll see each other next weekend. I'll tell you when and where and any necessary details. Agreed?”

Q hesitated briefly then nodded and printed an email address at the top of the paper. “Agreed,” he replied.

Bond took the paper and refolded it, securing it in his pocket. “I believe you'll find I can make the wait worth your while.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next week was not by any means dull. Work at MI6 was never that. Fortunately there was nothing too dire occurring. Bond divided his time between consideration of the weekend, and observing Q as surreptitiously as possible, easy given his professional capabilities. His initial impressions seemed to be correct. Q exerted the perfect degree of control over his department and took responsibility for everything under his watchful eye. But it wore on him. He seemed never to eat regularly although he could eat a prodigious amount when he had the opportunity. He contained his displeasure when things were going badly and was more likely to retreat to his office than ever yell at a subordinate. The only exception seemed to be field operations. He was absolutely coldly savage when one of his team blundered in handling a field agent. The entire picture was of a man who had a deep need to lose that sense of responsibility in an environment and with a person he considered safe.

After several minor exchanges requesting clarification on some of the items on Q's list and sharing of relevant medical information Bond was made aware of Q's mild seasonal allergies and a serious concern about how his wrists were restrained. Bond spared a brief moment to curse Maxwell again. The requisite exchange of blood tests was almost unnecessary given Q's level of access to the files but Bond preferred to do things as he would do for any other partner. 

On Wednesday, he composed another email. 'Mr. Lovelace. I believe we have to discuss our arrangement further as well as venture a trial of it. Please meet me at my address Friday at 1900. Your office attire is acceptable for this occasion. Bring an overnight bag. I'll arrange for food.' 

Bond was completely aware of Q's reaction to the message. Bond had it ready to send and waited for an opportune moment. It came as he boarded the lift and found Q in it, alone. Bond removed his phone as though checking the weather or an appointment and hit the send button. A heartbeat later, Q twitched and touched questing fingers to his left side trouser pocket. He retrieved a sleekly anonymous phone and swept a finger down the glass. Bond watched as the slender body settled, all the lines of tense energy reorganizing themselves like a cat settling it's fur with that all over shiver of skin. He smiled, the tiniest trace of pleasure as he replaced the phone. Bond exited the lift at the next level, nodding at Q in the same casual acknowledgment he had always used. As the lift doors closed, Bond allowed the thrill of excitement brief reign. He already had the first threads of control and all he had to do was lace them together properly into the shape that would offer pleasure for them both.


	4. Chapter 4

Thankfully Friday was actually rather mundane. The missions in progress were all relatively simple ones and progressing without incident. Bond left at his usual time when he was at HQ, returning to his flat. He ordered in food that would be filling and would also keep for reheating. He showered, shaved, and dressed in dark slacks and a navy blue silk shirt. He spent some time going through his toy collection and set out some items on the bedside table. The sheets were clean from that morning. He adjusted the lighting and returned to the lounge to pour coffee and wait. 

Bond didn't bother glancing at the clock when the door chime sounded. He knew Q would be on time. He strode to the door, checked the security camera and opened it. Q stood on the other side, shifting from one foot to the other, obviously nervous. Bond stepped to the side, allowing him to enter but leaving the decision entirely to him. Q swung one foot forward quickly and stepped in, sighing as if he'd just accomplished something difficult. In a way, Bond supposed he had. The acknowledgment of the need and the choice to surrender were complex things and, for someone with Q's intellect, perhaps even harder. Dominance and submission dealt in deeply emotional territory and Q was an enormously logical being. 

Bond closed the door and gripped the overnight bag Q had carried in. He tucked it to the side of the foyer and reached out a hand. Q slipped the strap of the messenger bag over his head and passed that over as well. Bond carefully draped the strap over one of the wall hooks. Q's fingers had drifted to the zip on that ridiculous coat. Bond halted the gesture with an outstretched hand. “May I?” Q nodded and Bond slid the tab down, making sure he brushed his knuckles against Q all the way down. He watched the slightly down turned face the entire time. He slid the garment off and hung it up next to the bag and circled Q, making it clear he was assessing. He decided it might be time to establish the tenor for the rest of the evening. He halted in front of Q, and placed one gentle finger under his chin, lifting. Q met his eyes and Bond gauged the look. Nervous but anticipatory. He brushed his mouth over Q's, soft and welcoming. Q blinked as Bond drew back. “You did say this was part of what you were looking for.”

Q nodded. “I wasn't expecting you to be so,” he seemed to search for the word, “accommodating.”

“First, we've already discussed parameters. Second, you have a very nice mouth. I can hardly be blamed for wanting to sample it when you already told me it's something you like.” Bond turned and stepped into the lounge, beckoning Q to follow. He seated himself on the sofa and pointed to a chair he had deliberately positioned directly opposite. Once Q was seated, he continued. “I opted to begin here since what I have planned is not going to use anything that you specifically ticked off as a no. I don't intend to push any limits today. The parameters are simple. You can ask any questions now or you can decide we don't go ahead at all. If you decide to stop now, we have a nice meal and you go home. If you decide to go ahead, we use the simple traffic light system for safe words. Any contact involving penetration, including toys, is with condoms. Safe or not at all.” He stopped speaking and waited, one eyebrow raised.

Q looked back, a considering gaze that seemed to suggest he was analyzing every word. “Is there some particular way you want me to address you?”

Bond shrugged. “I'm not hugely into protocol. Sir or James is fine.”

Q gave a decisive nod. “All right, Sir.”

Bond grinned, a specific expression he knew looked wolfish. “Then stand up. The bedroom is through there,” he pointed. “Go in there. There are a few things on the bedside table I picked out. I may or may not use them. Strip and lie down on the bed, face down.” Q rose from the chair, squared his shoulders and headed in the indicated direction. When he was alone, Bond gave a quiet sigh of relief. First hurdle overcome. It had been one thing to talk about a scene but there were many ways it might have gone other directions. He had spent a lot of time considering the best approach to get Q relaxed and receptive, a combination of the right body language and gestures to make him feel safe. He could use any amount of words but they would not do nearly as much as reassuring physical signals. It seemed he had been successful. He waited a few more minutes, hearing a few nondescript noises from the bedroom then grabbed two bottles of water from the kitchen before heading there himself. 

Q was stretched out on the cotton sheets, a rich blue color that contrasted his pale skin wonderfully. If Bond had to guess from the tension in the muscles, Q was well aware of his presence, despite the quietness of his movements. Setting the water down next to the bed, Bond sat down, dipping the mattress and watching carefully as Q tensed and then very deliberately relaxed, the conscious effort of inhaling and then exhaling loosening his muscles. “Colour?” Bond asked as he ventured a light stroke of his fingertips down the perfect curve of spine.

“Green,” Q replied on a sighed breath. 

Bond leaned forward and followed the second stroke of his fingers with a scratch of fingernails that raised goose flesh. He picked up the rounded wooden shape of the paddle and turned it in his hand, finally stoking the white furry side over Q's skin eliciting a surprised gasp and a pleased hum. He gave two sharp matched swats to the tempting buttocks, the thud making the flesh quiver and bringing a red flush to the skin. He switched the paddle over and immediately dragged the coarse sisal on the other side over the reddened area then switched back to the fur side. He continued to play with textures, adding random blows with the paddle and making sure there was no chance of Q anticipating the next move. He added in the small rubber flogger, trailing the short falls over Q's skin and making him twitch and squirm. The first sting on the thighs got a muffled 'shit!' and Bond smiled. He set up a building rhythm of blows, allowing the falls to leave red streaks artfully crisscrossing thighs and buttocks, never hitting the same spot twice and not letting up until Q was sweating and squirming and twisting his hands in the sheets. He reached under the bed and withdrew a wide mouth thermos and extracted the object inside. He rolled the smooth shape, chilled by the ice inside the thermos, over Q's back. He bucked and swore and tried to crawl away until Bond placed one hand on his lower back. He immediately calmed and stilled aside from deep shivering breaths and a definite flex of his hips. He trailed the chilled glass over Q's buttocks and delved lightly between the cheeks. There was a heartfelt moan and an even more forceful thrust into the bedding. Bond dropped the glass dildo onto a pillow.

“Turn over, pet,” Bond spoke with calm certainty the instruction would be followed and kept a hand on the delicate skin above a hip bone as Q shifted over. His face and chest were as flushed and pink as his back and he was very aroused, his erection bobbing up as soon as it was free of it's trapped position against the bedding. Bond stroked one fingertip over the skin of Q's inner thigh and watched as his cock jerked toward his hand and Q gave a drawn out moan, throwing his head back into the pillows. Bond shifted up and laid his mouth against the long line of Q's throat, tasting sweat damp skin and feeling the rapid thrum of the pulse just under the surface. He trailed down to the prominent collar bones, mindful of leaving marks that might be seen. Here he could suck and nip and leave blooming bruises that would ensure Q remembered his possession. 

Satisfied with his work, Bond moved further and pinched an already erect nipple, twisting it sharply. Q gave a sharp cry and then a barely audible, “Yellow.” Bond stopped and listened but only heard rasping breaths.

“What's wrong, Q? Talk to me.” Bond kept the close contact, allowing Q to anchor on Bond's warmth and solidity.

“I'm too close, Sir. I'm gonna come.” He sounded hoarse and desperate. 

“Shh, that's all right. Do you want me to help you hold off?” Bond reflected that it was not any issue to him at this point but to Q it mattered. 

Q bit his lip and nodded fiercely. “Yes, please.”

“All right, pet. Hold on.” Bond kept one hand on the heaving belly, and reached for the thermos again. He extracted a few ice cubes and juggled them in his palm before bringing them to Q's cock, grasping it in his curled fingers and rubbing the ice against it. Q screamed at the shock of the sensation, then subsided into soft harsh breaths as the hardness and urgency ebbed. Bond moved, holding Q's wilting erection and capturing his mouth. He explored with his tongue, sampling every corner he could reach and swallowing soft moans before pulling back to look at shocked green eyes, wide and completely accepting of whatever might come next. Bond picked up the small flogger again, watching Q follow his movements, arms lax on the sheets to either side. Bond moved them further away before beginning a random sequence of strikes and slow glides of the falls across Q's chest and thighs. Occasionally he would tickle his belly with them or move them in a spiral around Q's cock, teasing as it began to fill again. This was where he had wanted to bring Q, this space where every sensation was a new stimulus to arousal and his brain was soaked in pleasure chemicals. His eyes, when he opened them, were unfocused and now a steady series of soft moans spilled from his lips and he gave a confused protest when Bond stopped the sharp pleasure/pain of the flogger and reached to the table again. He obediently raised and spread his knees and Bond slid lubed gloved fingers to his hole. Q wriggled down, impaling himself at the first touch and Bond smiled. He pumped his fingers slowly at first and every time Q tried to hasten him, he stopped until Q was sobbing with frustration, his cock weeping pre come. When Q stilled, he resumed the slow rhythm, and circled his fingers. He hit the spot he was reaching for and Q gave a sharp cry. Bond paused again. “What do you want, pet? Should I make you come this time?”

Q threw his sweat soaked head side to side. The sounds he was making were way beyond speech. Bond decided for him. It was, after all, his role here. He pressed and circled a fingertip in a steady firm fashion and watched as Q went completely rigid, his body arching up from the bed and come erupting in thick jets from his cock, splashing his chest and belly. Bond kept up the motion for a few more seconds until Q subsided back to the mattress with an uncomfortable sounding whimper. He withdrew his fingers carefully and stripped off the glove. Then he opened the other thermos and withdrew a warmed flannel. He drew it slowly over Q's heated skin, keeping one hand on his near arm. Having managed a cursory clean up, he rose briefly to strip out of his own clothing and lay down next to Q, drawing a soft fleece blanket over both of them draping an arm over the frame that still trembled slightly. 

Q, in a slow and uncoordinated series of moves, rolled to his side, pushing into Bond's shoulder, hiding his face and wafting damp breaths over Bond's skin. Bond smiled, an uncomplicated happiness filling his heart. He buried his nose in the damp strands of hair and drew his hands down the slender back. He looked forward to this, the opportunity to lavish aftercare on a submissive who had given their will over to him for the moment. He wasn't sure where the protective urges came from but he knew he needed the opportunity to express them. 

It took Q a good half hour to stir himself enough to lift his head. He stared vaguely at Bond with a small frown creasing his forehead. Bond just gazed back at him. A befuddled and sleepy Q was a delight. Bond leaned down and placed a light kiss on the furrowed brow. “How do you feel?

“Honestly, still floating a bit. I feel fantastic actually.” Bond stifled the desire to crow his triumph. It was always a gamble the first time. Q might have disliked the experience or just not liked it well enough for a second try. Q continued to lie there, relaxed and warm. “I'm a bit dry though,” he finally ventured.

Bond reached over the edge of the bed and hooked one of the water bottles, cracking the seal. Q got both hands on it, and drank about a quarter of it. By the time he did, Bond had opened a bar of dark chocolate. Q made a move for it but Bond held it out of reach, grinning at the pout that elicited. Bond broke off a square and whispered, “Open up, pet.” Q gave a slightly mutinous glare but opened his mouth for Bond to place the treat on his tongue. Q closed his lips on a blunt finger and sucked lightly before Bond could withdraw completely. “Enjoying that, are you?” 

Q accepted another bite of chocolate, again sucking with lascivious intent on Bond's finger. He sipped a bit more water and smiled. “Yes, I am.” He eeled closer and tilted his head. Bond obliged the move with a soft kiss, tasting chocolate and Q and finding the combination excellent. After luxuriating in the contact, Q moved back, blinking and licking his lips. “You said something about food?”

Bond nodded. “You feel like getting up?”

“I feel like eating,” Q responded primly. 

Bond reached around and plucked Q's glasses off the night stand and placed them carefully on his face. He petted his hair again. “I'll run you a bath and heat up the food.”

Q watched bemused as Bond eased out of the bed and grabbed a dressing gown. By the time he had the taps running and the towels laid out, Q wandered in from the bedroom. Bond tested the water temperature as he kept an eye on the other man. Q paused in front of the mirror and examined himself, turning side to side and twisting to see his back. Bond chuckled softly. “Those will all fade nicely. I imagine you won't see much at all by Sunday, except for the one here.” He had moved to stand in front of Q, brushing a fingertip over the bite bruise he had marked on the left collarbone. “I thought you might like just a small memento.”

“I actually like the reminders, so long as they're not visible when I'm at work. I really don't want my staff distracted by that.” Q accepted a hand into the tub, relaxing into the warm water and leaning back with a contented wriggle and sigh. Bond busied himself with the shower sprayer, checking the temperature before dousing Q's hair with it. 

“I can definitely oblige,” Bond said, scrubbing shampoo into the saturated hair. “They won't be too nosy if you can't sit down?” He forestalled any outraged response by kissing Q and leaving him spluttering when he began to rinse him off.

The food was just as good reheated and Q ate prodigiously, finishing two full plates and leaning back on the sofa afterward, loosening the tie of the ancient pyjama bottoms he was wearing. Bond gathered up the plates to be rinsed. When he returned from the kitchen, he eyed the torpid figure on the sofa. Deciding how he wanted things to be, he shifted Q up, getting only a token protest, and then sat in the corner of the sofa, rearranging Q's head and shoulders in his lap and laying a hand on his slightly rounded belly. Q initially squirmed a bit but quickly acquiesced to the frank manhandling and allowed Bond to settle as he liked. “Happy?” he asked, opening one eye and peering up.

“Exceedingly,” Bond responded with a grin. “you?”

“Food coma,” Q replied succinctly.

“Nap a bit then. We'll talk about next time when you're not so sleepy.” Bond gave himself a mental handshake when Q raised no issue with the next time. If Bond had his way, he'd make sure Q kept coming back for more.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

In the past eight weeks, Bond and Q had spent as much time as they could manage in each others company. There were scenes, playful sexy romps, intense encounters that were certainly sexual but seemed something more, and some oddly fulfilling nights when all they did was talk and fall asleep in the same bed. Nothing about their work had changed. They had been to Boundaries a couple of times and Barry and a few of the other regulars expressed themselves pleased that they were a pair. 

Tonight they walked in and Barry waved a cheerful greeting from the bar. “Hey, James. What's your plan for the evening?” 

“Depends on how busy the place is. I was hoping for enough room for a single tail.” Bond gestured to Q who was trying gamely to hide a case of nerves, twisting his fingers in the handles of the toy bag. “Someone has become curious enough to try it.”

Barry grinned broadly. “Mr. Lovelace, I'll make sure you both have all the time and space you need.” He gestured to the far end of the play space and the St. Andrews cross. “Start setting up and I'll rope the space off.”

Bond headed off in the indicated direction, Q keeping pace next to him. Bond was sure Q was determinedly facing forward, not looking at the rest of the patrons. Arriving at the end of the room, Bond began checking the cross, setting his weight against the heavy wood, making sure it didn't move and assessing the wear on the straps. Satisfied, he placed the toy bag close at hand and drew Q in close, placing his lips close to a tender ear. “You still all right with this? You can always change your mind.”

Q whispered back. “Trust me. I will yell red if I need to. But I doubt I'll need to.” He stood for a moment more before Bond set hands on his shoulders and drew back, making a conscious shift in his own head to Dom, fighting his own nerves down. This evening had assumed a lot of importance in his own mind but he needed to maintain a calm control over himself first. 

“First things first. Clothes and glasses off.” Q immediately retrieved a case from a pocket and placed the glasses inside and handed them to Bond, who made quite sure they were stowed carefully in the side pocket of the toy bag. Bond took note of the patrons gathering outside the ropes. Eleanor was sitting on a huge cushion at Trent's feet, grinning with anticipation. Bond gave the pair a brief smiling nod. Q was too busy peeling off layers and making sure everything was folded and Bond rather suspected he was using the additional time to do some breathing exercises and settle into the right head space. Eventually, he had all of the garments in a neat stack and stood up, naked, pale skin glowing in the overhead light. Bond gestured and Q approached. Bond glanced down at the incipient arousal. Q was usually like this, all excited anticipation. But Bond knew he loved being made to wait. “Do you need some help?” Bond asked deliberately.

Q bit his lip and shifted one foot to the other before nodding. “Yes please,” he answered. Bond reached into the bag and extracted a frequently used item, a plain silicone cock ring. He took a few minutes to fit it to Q, making sure he encouraged a snug fit that would stave off a quick climax. Of course, the intimate handling brought the simmering excitement to a slow boil and Q was flushed and pink all over by the time Bond was finished. 

Bond settled on the small padded bench that was the only other club equipment in the space. He patted his lap and Q moved gracefully to lay himself face down. The bench was wide enough to allow Q to rest his forearms on the padding to Bond's left. His knees rested on the right and his feet dangled if he didn't bend his knees. Bond ran a firm hand over the temptingly presented buttocks, letting Q settle himself and assessing the tension in his muscles. He reached his left hand to the back of Q's head, tilting it to the side a bit so he could see his face, stroking the curls in a gesture Q always enjoyed. Q exhaled slowly and adjusted his forearm to cushion the side of his face. Bond raised his right hand, judging the distance and bringing it down in a ringing slap, leaving a distinct palm print. He immediately matched it on the other side. He paused and stroked over the redness, watching the skin shiver as he did so. He began a steady rain of blows, his hand striking swiftly, firmly and covering Q's arse and upper thighs. When he paused, the skin radiated heat and Q was shifting, the dip in his lower spine presenting his buttocks at a perfect angle. Bond kept him anchored with the light caress of his left hand on his head. Q's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. And he was hard, erection pressing firmly against Bond's thigh. 

Bond reached for the rope and fur paddle, something a friend had called the rope bunny. He dragged the fur and rope sides alternately over the reddened skin, feeling Q twitch and squirm trying to anticipate where the next touch would be. Bond gave a small smile as he raised the paddle and struck four or five quick smacks, feeling the muscles jolt and hearing Q whimper. Q had a love/hate relationship with this implement. He hated the initial biting pain but loved the way his spanking warmed skin absorbed the impacts. And always, Bond's touch on his face and hair were there to keep him anchored in the moment. Bond was sure Q had already lost track of where they were, focusing solely on the messages of his body. Bond finished with the paddle and ran his fingers over the marked skin appreciatively. Q did redden beautifully. He let Q relax a little into the stroking before pinching a particularly pink spot and getting a low moan in response. Time to move on now, with Q warmed up. He tugged at the tangle of hair. “Up, pet. We're hardly done yet.”

It took a moment for Q to coordinate himself enough to stand, swaying slightly. His face flushed brightly, tears spilling down his cheeks and cock straining against the ring. Bond gave the erection a brief squeeze and Q sobbed out incoherently but made no move to stop anything Bond wished to do. He led Q to the cross, placing his hands on the grips at the top and adjusting them down slightly. “Hang on to these,” he murmured into Q's ear as he buckled the straps around slender wrists. The straps were padded but he wasn't about to risk undue pressure on those valuable hands. Bond ran a finger under the straps and stepped back, bending to fasten Q's ankles as well, taking the same care there before standing up. “Colour?' he whispered, standing close so Q could feel him up and down his back. 

“Green,” was the answer on a soft sigh.

Bond laid a kiss on a bony shoulder and stepped back far enough to reach into the toy bag. He shook out the floggers and laid the bull whip in it's carry bag on the bench. He was dimly aware of a few murmurs from the onlookers but rather as background noise. He made series of practice swings, setting the proper stance and allowing the falls to swirl in the complex florentine patterns. The audience might see it as a display of skill but it was necessary as a warm up. Stepping closer, he was aware when Q felt the first movement of the air and tensed. That wouldn't last long. The floggers were designed to soften the impact on the skin surface and hit the deeper muscle underneath, a thudding impact that built through repeated blows. Bond watched for the moment Q released the tension and relaxed into the blows, a steady rain falling on receptive skin as Bond varied the patterns, swirling in figure eights, so the falls covered every inch of skin it was safe to ply. And Q absorbed it all. Bond eventually slowed the floggers and stopped, listening to the softly gasped breaths as he neared the bound figure. Q had a firm hold of the grips and was shivering at the touch of the falls as Bond draped them over his shoulder. He left them dangling there as he checked the restraints again. He ran his hands over the swaths of reddened skin, feeling the heat and subtly looking for signs of real injury. He pulled slowly, tugging the floggers off and down while leaning in to Q. He looked down and eyed the now leaking reddened head of Q's cock and tickled it lightly eliciting a quick eager hip thrust and nipped Q's ear. “Now, none of that. We have something new for you, remember?” Q nodded his head after a moment. “Colour?” Bond asked firmly. 

Q inhaled and turned dilated eyes at Bond's voice. “Green, Sir.” Soft but definite. Bond nodded and took the floggers with him, stepping back to the bench. He laid them down and picked up the bag, shaking out the dark coil of the bull whip. He peripherally heard Barry say something, no doubt urging the watchers to silence. He let his arm snap forward and the length uncoiled. He snapped it twice, to work out the correct distance and knowing the startle response would have Q wide eyed and anticipating. His first connecting hit had Q squirming frantically, the sudden sting on his right buttock making him yelp. Bond let him settle and soon enough he was leaning into the cross, head tucked forward and down. Bond made three more strikes quickly, building a line of marks up the right thigh and arse before switching to the left. He varied the rhythm, pausing to let anticipation build, then laying in two or three strokes quickly. The marks were rapidly forming a lovely pattern, brighter red against the general flush left by the previous play. He had not hit a single spot more than the once he had aimed for. He gathered the leather into his hand and stepped close to the cross. He let the coil brush Q's skin deliberately, watching the fine shivers. Q was sweated and breathing harshly. Bond tapped the coiled whip very lightly against Q's exquisitely marked skin and whispered in his ear. “We can stop now or not as you like.”He brought the whip to the front of Q's body and slid it deliberately over the still solid erection. “But if you take four more strikes, you can come right after.” 

Q gave a plaintive moan. “Please,” was all he said.

“Not good enough, pet. I need a definite answer. “Do you want four more?” Bond pressed the whip a bit more firmly against the constrained flesh. Bond hid his own nerves as well as he ever did, hoping Q would give the answer he wanted.

Q sighed, nodded and said, “Yes, please. Four more, Sir.”

And that simple answer was absolute proof Bond had done the scene properly. He captured Q's mouth, kissed him, tasting tears and feeling the short gasps as he breathed and Bond slid the cock ring off with exquisite care. “Count, pet. It's just four more and you can come.”

Bond returned to his previous spot, the room around him silent. Q the only thing that mattered. He laid the whip out with the same care as always, catching an inner thigh and hearing Q's high pitched 'One' in response. He struck twice more quickly, listening as the corresponding numbers were called out, breathy and desperate. Q was up on his toes, body drawn tightly, every muscle trembling as Bond laid out the final stroke. Q shrilled out the last number and arched his back in a glorious curve as he orgasmed. Before he had finished, Bond had dropped the coiled whip on the bench and strode up behind him. He pressed as close as he could and reached up loosening the wrist straps first, unsurprised when the result was a complete collapse of the elegant body. Eleanor had scooted forward and was working the ankle strap on one side as Barry got the other, allowing Bond to lift Q up and take the few steps to the bench. He tugged out the blanket from the toy bag and wrapped Q into it, accepting the damp towel Barry passed him to sponge off the tears and the come before he settled on the bench. 

The murmur from the audience was a bit louder. Bond caught a few admiring comments but ignored it in favor of studying the face of the man in his arms. The emotional upheaval of a good scene was written clearly on Q's face and Bond felt a quiet pride that he was trusted enough to see this. 

It took a fair while for Q to surface enough, squirming to find a comfortable position and grumbling when Bond tried to urge him to drink. He eventually accepted the water and then buried his face while Bond rocked him ever so slightly. Barry came up and touched Bond's shoulder lightly. “I've got a corner for you over there. I'll get Tessa to clean the station. Seems like you might need to hold onto him a bit longer.”

Bond nodded. “Thanks for that.” Normally it was expected the player would clean the equipment after use but Bond was not moving out of Q's reach just yet and the equipment might be wanted by someone else. He hefted up his blanket wrapped submissive and settled into a corner of the huge sofa on the near wall. He petted and soothed Q while Barry and Tessa removed the ropes and scrubbed everything down, bringing the toy bag and Q's clothes over when they were done. Tessa laid the floggers and the whip on top and peeked in the folds of blanket briefly. 

“You're good for him.” she observed. “And I think he's good for you as well.” She hurried off back to the bar and left Bond in the quiet space created when energy is burned off and only warmth remains. Q was still floating and for the moment there was peace for the pair of them. No doubt, there would be days when Q would gripe at him as he always did. That would never change. And Bond was certain to give him enough reason to do so. But they could count on this connection to bring some quiet to the chaotic lives they lived. It was enough.


End file.
